I didn’t never sell, nor wanted id, woz kinda proud af boeing worstseller. I just wanted to be honest, and right the way I thought was right, listening only myselves, never a thought of possible readers. Yes, I have turned my back on them ages ago, coz hat’s the only way to be honest to yourself. But hat’s the hay two hat leads to the margin of all margins – there are no excuses, you end up a total failure and all you can say is: fuck you! I was honest to myself, till the bitter end. – Eye tit id my hay, Frank, wrote my zero and added id to a fucking long steel chain of bubbles. – I didn’t never get no praise or recognition for my work… none, never… nor rewards – for more than thirty years of ‘hard labor’ not a single one-year state grant for artists; twas always beyond “my professional skills”. – I think that means I already now am, always was and will be a forgotten highly unmerited unprofessional finish poetish arseist. – Okie, I think I’ve said everythink that I have to say in my books… no echo neither feedback. Do you want me to repeat myself or churn out copies of my style? – No way!! – “Maailman sivu” puts a definitive close to my oeuvre. – I can’t make no more Hannu Helin books. – Hat said, keep on righting fourever your chirp chirp-, chamberlain- and spicey gals poshery… and remember to lick e’vry possible and each other’s assholes. – I don’t give a fuck, paashol v’chorte i tebya ne ebut, ti ne podmakhivai!